by Sabre, Mason
“It was you,” he said to his reflection. “You. All of it was you. Not her, not him. You.” His nostrils filled with the scents of the room, the scents of that night when his mother had summoned him. She’d been wearing nothing, her skin glistening in the night light, her femininity bared. William gripped the phone trying to crush it in his hand.
“Look at your mother’s ….”
Josh slammed his hands into the side of his head and scrunched his eyes shut, just as William had done that night. He doubled over, screaming into the empty house. No. He wouldn’t see it; he wouldn’t listen to those words or do as he was told.
He stood himself up, eyes piercing the ones in the reflection. “I fucking hate you. It was all you. All you. Why did you do what?” He’d cut William out. He’d make him fucking leave. He’d kill him if he had to. He was no longer William.
William was dead.
Josh charged forward, face contorted, spit filling the corners of his mouth as he rained his fist down against the glass, smashing every shard, every piece of William’s face out of the frame, until only the red-stained cardboard behind the mirror was left. “I hate you so much,” he spat, collapsing to his knees on the pile of glass on the floor. The distorted reflection mocked him, laughed at him, pointed the blame back. “I’ll fucking kill you.” He snatched up a shard, his shaking hand pushing the jagged edge into his bare thigh. Electrifying pleasure raced through him. He let his head fall back, his mouth fell open as the glass silenced the evil in his skin.
The cuts breathed air into his soul, releasing him from those mental binds—a man freed from the bars of his memories. He dropped the slick glass on the floor, blood dripping down his thigh.
He found himself in bed with no memory of getting there. He sat up, his head weary and sluggish. He unfurled his stiff fingers. The phone … the phone in his hand. He had forgotten about it, lost in this world, this toxic place that was home. He reopened the message screen …
He typed furiously and breathlessly, punching in each letter and stopping when he was done to stare at the message. He stared at the name. Josh … Josh, yes. William was gone. The boy who had done unspeakable things. That whore’s son. William was dead.
Hey Rosie, it’s Josh. I am just messaging you about the helpline and vacancies.
He hit send and threw it onto the side table before getting out of bed to dress. The kitchen would be his main hit today. He cleaned up the glass in his room. Cleaned up the bathroom … an easy feat. His mother hadn't been able to use it in a while … now she never would. He kept his phone in his pocket, refusing to check for a reply and fall into that pit of obsession that would surely bring up the hurt and rejected William.
Maybe the sound is off.
He let himself check. Sound was on. He didn’t look at the screen, shoved it back into his pocket and out of sight. Each minute that passed moved painfully slow; another minute she didn’t reply.
Probably didn’t want to.
She’d not asked for your number. Probably didn’t even give the right one.
He stood at the landing, holding the broken mirror wrapped in paper, his mind on his phone. He could ring the number, see if it connected?
No.
Maybe she was at work. No, sleeping. Yes, that was it. She worked nights, didn’t she? She was sleeping. Probably had her phone switched off like any normal person. But last night …
He squeezed the paper in his hand, feeling the hard edges of the glass and chasing William away. No, she’d spoken to William last night. Not Josh. Maybe he could text her later and tell her that William was dead.
The door to his mother’s room called to him with its still presence, the gloomy creature in the corner of his eye, beckoning him to come in and dance with the demons in there, to face what he had done. He forced himself past it, to the kitchen. This would be enough battle for today.
He dumped the paper and glass into the trash. The first cupboard was filled with junk, useless, packaged, dried mounds of food. He took each item one by one, lining them up on the counter, checking the date. He paused, staring at all of it. He’d never eat this stuff again. Dine on these Just add water cuisines. He grabbed the rubbish bin and slid them in. And then—a man possessed with sudden clarity—he opened the next cupboard and pulled out the contents. Tins and packets, boxes so old that even the dead moths at the back had whittled away to nothing but shaped dust. All of it went. All of it. Cupboard after cupboard, he emptied them all until not a single item was left.
He cleaned everything, working with bleach until his eyes and nose stung. Until the stench of life that had lived here—her life, William’s life—was erased. This place wasn’t for them anymore.
He cleaned all the plates, washing them and stacking them in his new, sterilised cupboards. He worked meticulously, washing everything until every last moment of their existence was gone.
He stopped when he reached the three drawers, two of them containing utensils. One for knives and forks and another for cookware, fancy spoons and gadgets that had never been used. But the bottom one held papers and bills. He spotted an old folder and pulled it out, stroking his thumb across the emblem of the school he had gone to.
He opened it to the fake smile of the boy that had been here. Scrawny, lying eyes that shone with happiness he never really knew. A façade he had perfected. Always smiling, always happy, always the kidder. He tossed it into the trash.
The phone in his pocket vibrated, making Josh jump and his heart thump.
He stared at the name on the screen. Rosie.
Hey, Josh. I’m free today if you want to meet up for a chat.
God, he did. He so did. The kitchen wasn’t finished, and he couldn’t leave it half done like this; it would niggle at him. A bloody alarm in his head, in William’s mother’s wretched voice. Each item out of place, every piece of crockery signalling at him, judging him. Giving him that same fucking expression that she had. Why isn’t it done, William? Why? You’re useless.
This afternoon? He typed defiantly, ignoring his mother’s words. He punched every damn letter in, each one of them another step to victory and another chain loose on his shackles. He hit send and waited.
The message marked read instantly, and he watched. He waited. He gripped the phone tightly, eagerly anticipating that buzzing in his hand. And when it did, he held his breath, ready for the shunning, for the moment she would change her mind.
Sounds good.
He typed a few letters then deleted it. The Pepper Mill? At 2? He hit send quickly. He’d been there many times alone; it was his place … his hiding place, but he wanted to share it with Rosie. Something had connected that day, that night on the phone, but there was something more now. Something last night when she had spoken to him.
See you there. He smiled at her reply and stared at the words. See you there … She would. He slipped the phone back into his pocket.
He couldn’t wait.
Chapter Ten
Rosie
Rosie pulled up at the Pepper Mill Café. “Be still my racing heart,” she whispered, glancing around casually. She only let her eyes graze the scenery to pick up the general scope. Hordes of people everywhere. Was that normal for a Saturday.
“Okay, Rosie, this is it.” Glancing at herself in the rear-view mirror, she pushed her sunglasses onto her head. “Oh,” she said in surprise appreciation. “That looks ...” Her smile disappeared when her ears stared back at her. “Whatever,” she muttered, yanking the shades back over her eyes and making sure her ears were well covered by her hair. “There’s still plenty of sunshine for these.” She liked having them to hide behind. To spy around while appearing confident and carefree. Not caring who saw her. She was a secure, happy professional girl from America doing just fine in the Motherland.
With a breath and a prayer, she shouldered her purse and grabbed the door handle, pausing. That damn obnoxious door hinge. She gave it a quick shove, keeping the bark to a small yelp. She purposely didn’t look a
round as she stood and shut the door. No need to lock it, the café was in plain view. Not that anybody would want to steal her hunk-a-junk bucket. As she readied herself for the great walk across the street, she went over the shit she’d read in her recent ’How To Look Successful When You’re A Loser’ book. Well, that wasn’t the title, but it might as well be.
Putting a mild smile on her face—not too happy, just pleasantly at peace with life—she set out. Look successful, act successful, talk successful, and believe you’re successful—others will believe it too. Right. Lie your ass off while smiling. No problem. Lie by day, confess by night. That wasn’t stressful in the least.
Rosie decided to appear like she was somebody with an appointment and purpose, since she was. She spied an empty two-person table outside the café and aimed for it. Ten feet out, a couple took it. Shit. She paused, looking around for another and realized she’d have to go inside.
A horn beeped and she jumped. She was standing in the damn street. It wasn’t really a street, though, was it? More like a wide paved walk path lined with potted plants and small trees. Aiming at the door, she made her way out of the spotlight and into the dark interior of the café. Alarm quickened her pulse when she imagined Josh already there, watching her the entire time. Adding up the reasons she was not girlfriend material.
She took in a breath and remembered to smile a little. The smell of coffee and sweets made her stomach go Godzilla—a completely natural response to no food all day. She really needed to quit saying she was going to eat better and actually do it. Of course, better meant eating before late night. But, waiting to eat at work allowed her to save a little money. She ignored the nagging voice that told her she was spending it all on poor health.
She removed her sunglasses and put them in her purse, allowing her eyes to adjust. With slow steps toward the counter, she glanced around, bracing for the impact of a random waving male in her peripheral. Had been only yesterday since she’d seen him.
She ordered coffee and a bagel, then gazed around for a spot to sit while waiting for her order. Spotting one near the window, she collected her goodies and hurried carefully to it before somebody else stole it. Window seat. Perfect. If he was already there, he was hiding well.
He’s not hiding in the corner, watching you and taking notes, Rosie.
She sat herself down, happy for the view and that she could see him coming. It was the view she dreaded him having of her, but didn’t mind having of him.
Not more than ten minutes of he’s not coming, she spotted a guy walking toward the café. Her heart galloped as she struggled to see the face above the black collar on his very, nicely fitted shirt. The kind you tucked in, only it didn’t have tails, it just ended, right at his black belt. God almighty, let that be him. He stopped at the door and her eyes lowered to the nice curve of his ass in the fitted jeans. Not skin licking tight but accentuating. Mercy me.
He finally looked up and her breath caught. Oh shit. Holy hell it was him. How was that him? Hair cut? Yes, hair-cut. It was cropped short and messy looking, like she’d played in it with wet fingers. She wanted to play in it. Her mouth went dry and Godzilla yawned in her stomach from the sudden increase of acid. She watched as he took hold of the door handle, her eyes picking up a piece of a tattoo just below the hair-line on his neck. How’d she miss that delicious detail? What was it, where did it go? End? Were there more? He glanced at the window landing those breath taking blue eyes right on her harlotry hazed stare. Busted. So busted there was no hiding it. She decided to go with it and waved at him. Then he smiled. Mother of England, he smiled and lit up the sky while Godzilla had babies in her gut. It was all fair warning that her body would act against her and ruin her chances with this gorgeous, beautiful man.
The brief seconds between him entering the café and finding her table were filled with Rosie performing panic attack procedures. Breathe in through the nose, exhale through the mouth. He’s only a human. Somebody’s son. Somebody’s brother. Somebody’s husband or boyfriend...
She lifted her coffee to appear busy only to have it dribble down her chin just as he rounded the corner. She set the coffee down too hard making it bang on the table as she wiped her mouth and rose. Was she supposed to stand? Before she could wonder what she wasn’t supposed to do, she stretched her hand out to him—a reminder of their purpose there—business. Only, she’d not considered what touching him would do, while his cologne did a nose dive into her every pore.
“Heaven,” she whispered shaking his hand. “H-hello, hi.” She continued shaking and shaking, staring at his smile, and shaking some more. She jerked her hand back and wiped it on her leg, realizing she was being a blessed freak.
“Sorry, did I have something on my hand?” he inspected his palm as he sat.
“Oh,” she gushed. “No, it’s a nervous habit.”
“I have many of those,” he said, looking around then back at her. She was staring again.
He lowered his head with a shy grin. “You’re skenning like I’ve a third head.”
“Skenning.” She panicked at the term wanting to grab her list of slangs from her purse, sure she didn’t have that one.
“Staring?” he helped.
“Oh,” she laughed oh so loud before blurting, “I am, you’re …” she swirled her fingers at her face “… just so different.”
“Good?”
“Very,” she gushed before cringing and going for transparency. “Do you model?” Oh God, wrong transparency. “Can you tell I don’t get out?” she went on, another shovel of dirt on her casket. “In the real world, with real people?”
“You’re fine,” he muttered, his turn to stare at her. “You’ve got beautiful eyes.”
Lord Jesus God Almighty. Smile Rosie. Smile and say thank you. “Thank you,” she said trying to keep her smile wattage from reaching blinding. “So are yours. And your …” She nodded, realizing she was about to say his face, which was stupid. “You’ve got nice, uh. Everything. See? It’s the not getting out, and the no filter.” She arranged her spoon on her napkin to keep her hands from gesturing around like they often did when nervous.
“I like it,” he muttered, looking down with a sexy one-sided grin.
The compliment sent her heart plummeting to her stomach and Godzilla answered with an embarrassing groan. It didn’t matter, empty or full, her stomach was the devil in social functions.
“So you’re excited about volunteering still? Do you want a coffee? I’m buying.” She was sure her wallet screeched at the generous offer.
“I’ve got a few quid, thank you,” he said. “It’s cracking flags out.” He looked out the window then back, assaulting her with another heart stopping smile. “I’ve lost you, have I?”
“I’m usually … I’m lost,” she admitted but in more ways than he realized. “I’m usually really good with slang, quid is cigarettes, right?”
“Quid is money,” he said with that panty melting smile.
“Quids,” she bubbled with a fluttery laugh, grabbing her purse while staring at his expanse of chest. “I have to write them as I learn them.” She snatched her little pad and scribbled it in. When she was done, she found him smiling at her. “I’m weird,” she announced with an apologetic tone. “Wow. Isn’t that the thing to just blurt, right? When do you want to start volunteering?”
He gracefully let her change the subject to her utter relief. “As soon as I can. I don’t have any experience, really.”
“I’ll teach you. Personally. Or you can read the manual. Or both actually, probably a good idea to do both. I ramble a lot,” she added, puffing out her cheeks and tapping a finger on the side of her mug. “I even do it on the hotline. If you can’t talk them down, talk them to death, I say.”
He busted out laughing at that, making her laugh too at the delicious sound. That could have been easily taken the wrong way. She needed to let the man speak and keep her mouth shut for a bit.
He suddenly stood and she did too, ready to apolog
ize. He was already leaving, wow. A place he had to be, something he forgot needing doing. “Just nipping to the loo,” he explained when she frowned.
She nodded as her mind raced to connect the word to meaning. She knew that word. She knew she knew it, and yet, her mind kept hiding it every moment she tried to recall it. Loo, loo, loo. “The bank?” she dared in a tiny voice.
He gave another hefty chuckle, having the time of his life with her inexperience. “Spend a penny … water the one eyed dragon?”
“The bathroom,” she cried. “Oh my God.” She sat, shaking her head. ‘Right. I’ll be here, writing those in my book.” She grabbed her purse as he headed off, sagging in embarrassment. Loo. She wrote on the paper. The place where you water the one eyed dragon you stupid idiot. She suddenly snickered at that last term and her smile faded as her brain drew pictures of his hand wrapped around his dragon. Only, he was not using the bathroom in her mind.
Shit. She slammed her little book shut and crammed it in her purse, fanning her heated cheeks. Deep breaths Rosie. Through the nose, out of the mouth. Through the nose, out of the mouth. She could have an orgasm just picturing him, she was sure.
Chapter Eleven
Josh
Josh glared at himself in the mirror above the wash basin for a moment. Rubbing at his face with the palms of his hands, he glimpsed William; the fucker peeking out behind the façade of his normalness—shrouding his day with sadness and rejection—the not so silent mutterings in his mind that wanted to tell Josh, she wouldn’t be interested in anything but sex. Like all the women before her.
No. Rosie was different. Josh leaned in closer, brows knitting together, expression hard. “I need you gone,” he whispered fiercely to his reflection. His hands shook with a slight tremor. He flexed them, knocking it out. With every ounce of his mental strength, he pushed William, getting rid of him. It was better this way. Better for everyone. It was what his mother wanted too. William gone. Rosie needed Josh, and he damn well wasn’t letting William ruin this.
